


The King in the Mountain

by Attalander



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Apocalypse, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Resurrection, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attalander/pseuds/Attalander
Summary: Many cultures have tales of “the king in the mountain”, who will return in their time of greatest need.Now that time has come, and Merlin is there to finally see Arthur ride again.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	The King in the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t seen “Merlin”, But YouTube clip compilations and a whole bunch of fanfics have made me want to write something.
> 
> Apologies for any mischaracterization or breaks from canon, this is just me having fun.

It was the apocalypse.

There had been false alarms before: invasions, plagues, the blitz, Brexit, but this time it was clear. Albion, or England now, was at its greatest moment of need.

The signs had all been there: earthquakes and tidal waves, auroras and sightings of strange beasts. Scandinavia and the British Isles had been wracked with blizzards for nine months, regardless of season. Magic might’ve left the world, trickled out in dribs and drabs until only a few holdouts remained, but it had come back with a sudden, terrible vengeance. Monsters and ancient evils were rising, and prophesied heroes returning.

In Mexico the ground had opened up into fanged maws, and Quetzalcoatl the Feathered Serpent God had ridden his raft of snakes to his homeland’s defense. In India, Vishnu the Preserver rode his white horse against the Asuras, while the Golem of Prague had descended once more from the Old New Synagogue to defend the Jewish people. Charlemagne and William Tell, Genghis Kahn and Gesar of Ling, every legendary hero was stirring.

Merlin could feel his heart thundering in his chest. For all that the world was ending, he couldn’t resist a surge of joy. Finally, _finally_ , it was happening. He was going to see Arthur again.

The Lake had reappeared around Glastonbury Tor and Merlin stood at the edge of it, robes blowing in the frozen wind, unfelt due to magical protection. He had bought them on Etsy for a ridiculous sum of money, but he had plenty (in antique coins) and he might as well do this in style. He was wearing the form people seemed to expect of him these days, the old wizard inspiration of Gandalf and Dumbledore, and he could hear the news helicopters circling overhead as he dug the end of his staff into the ground.

He could see the white ships emerging from the mist, growing closer and closer; so different from the other ships, the ones made of dead men’s fingernails, that sailed down from the north. England’s apocalypse was one of Nordic origins, as the dishonored dead rose to destroy the living.

It was time for the honored dead to rise as well.

The ships glided against the wind, sails full as they silently drifted to shore. Each was full of horses and mounted warriors, resplendent in the garments of their respective eras. Sir Francis Drake in crimson hose, Fionn mac Cumhaill with his mighty spear, Bran the Blessed and St. George and dozens more, all ready to defend their homeland.

And before them all, in gleaming armor and a blazing golden crown rode Arthur, the Once and Future King. He looked just as Merlin remembered him, tall and strong and noble, and the sight nearly took his breath away. Those eyes, that tousled blonde hair and strong jaw... it was as if the centuries had never passed and he was back from some hunt or tournament, except that his armor literally shone with inner light and his face was unmarked by stress or fatigue.

Merlin had imagined this moment for over a thousand years, imagined a thousand things he wanted to say, but they all fled his mind in an instant.

“Arthur...” he said, soft and wondering.

“Dragoon?” Arthur asked in surprise as his horse stepped off the ship, hooves ringing out like bells as they struck the snowy ground. He frowned, looking around like a puppy for a treat. “I was expecting-“

 _That_ was the Arthur he knew. Merlin blinked back tears as he smiled and dropped the illusion of age.

“Me?” Merlin asked.

“Merlin...” Arthur said, breaking into a grin. “Yet more secrets?”

“I hardly had time to explain... before,” Merlin replied, trying not to think of that last, horrible night. “Sorry-“

But Arthur was already sliding off his horse and striding over to Merlin. The warlock expected a clap on the shoulder, a friendly punch to the arm, but instead he was gathered up in an uncomfortable but incredible armored hug.

“Don’t you _dare_ apologize,” Arthur growled in his ear. “I’ve had a lot of time to... _gods_ it’s good to see you!”

“You too...” Merlin said, wrapping his own arms around Arthur. He would not cry in front of news helicopters and every great hero of the British Isles, he would _not_.

Then Arthur pulled back, cupped Merlin’s face and pressed their lips together. Merlin hadn’t kissed anyone in centuries, but even then he knew it hadn’t felt like _this_. Hot and sweet and searing, full of certainty and truth. It lasted forever and not nearly long enough.

“Wha-“ Merlin gasped when they finally came up for air.

“Like I said,” Arthur stroked Merlin’s cheek. “I’ve had a _lot_ of time to think.”

“B-but Gwen?” Merlin asked, then cursed his stupid mouth for protesting something he’d wanted for so long.

“I loved her,” Arthur said, “I still do... But I’ve always loved you too. It just took time to realize it; time to accept that she had my last life, and this one belongs to you... if you want it.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Merlin said, pulling Arthur into another kiss. His mind whirled with questions and emotions, but one thought kept rising to the surface.

“How long?” Merlin asked when they broke apart again.

“It felt like a few years, but...” Arthur glanced up at the helicopters, then over at the gawping onlookers and news vans that had pulled up while Merlin was distracted. “I gather it’s been longer out here.”

“One thousand, four hundred and eighty-five years,” Merlin said. There was no point in hiding it, glossing over things. They had no secrets anymore, nothing holding them apart.

“And you waited?” Arthur asked, brows raised in shock.

“I will always wait for you,” Merlin said simply. “Always.”

“Merlin...” Arthur’s eyes were so soft, so deep the warlock wanted to drown in them. He was leaning in for another kiss when a throat cleared behind him.

“As touching as this is, your majesty,” said a man in a WWI uniform, who Merlin recognized belatedly as a young Winston Churchill. “We do have a war to fight.”

“Right,” Arthur said, suddenly all business. “Do you have a mount, or should you ride with me?”

The dragons were back in the world and Merlin could easily have summoned one, but he shook his head with a smile.

“I’m with you,” he said, gripping Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m always with you.”

Arthur grinned and lifted Merlin onto his horse like the sorcerer weighed nothing at all. The wizard gasped at his king’s strength. This was an Arthur full to the brim with vitality, the power and grace of the realm beyond the mists. He was alive, more alive than he had ever been.

Arthur climbed up in front of Merlin, waited a moment for Merlin to wrap one arm around his waist while the other gripped his staff.

“Sure you won’t fall off this time?” Arthur asked. Merlin couldn’t see his face but he knew the blonde was grinning.

“Not this time.” Merlin said, then spoke a word of power. He bound himself to the saddle, to Arthur, and wreathed them in a crackling aura of arcane protection. Arthur just nodded, trusting Merlin at his word.

Come dead or demons, come giants or firbolgs, Merlin would never let go of him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the characters mentioned are from various “king in the mountain” myths, although I took some liberties (such as Winston Churchill). Apologies to the Irish and the Welsh for having their culture heroes ride from Avalon!
> 
> Also apologies for writing an apocalypse fic in 2020.
> 
> Comments and kudos are helpful in these trying times. Please be gentle!


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